


Sharp and Glorious Thorns

by Florrama



Category: Stalking Jack the Ripper - Kerri Maniscalco
Genre: 1920s america, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Mention of Death, Romance, Sexual Tension, Vampire AU, but they still english, cant lose the accent now can we, nothing graphic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florrama/pseuds/Florrama
Summary: Audrey Rose finds herself returning to the underworld speakeasy belonging to the notorious Mephistopheles on her investigation to find the identity of a brutal serial killer at large in prohibition era America. Getting answers from fellow vampires is hard enough, and the irritating yet charming human only makes the task more challenging... but there's something about the man, and it turns out that he may be more helpful than she originally thought.Also known as: Cressworth sexual tension where Audrey Rose is a vampire in 1920s America.
Relationships: Audrey Rose Wadsworth/Thomas Cresswell, Thomas Cresswell/Audrey Rose Wadsworth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Sharp and Glorious Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt Palm kisses with Cressworth pushed me to write this, and the idea has been hovering under my fingertips for the past month anyway. Its 1920s America, Vampire!Audrey x human!Thomas bc I like vampires, 1920s fashion, and speakeasies.

The streets are quiet, as they always are at this time of night; crescent moon high in the sky, casting an eerie glow and deep shadows along the dimly lit pavement. But glancing into the alleyways she regularly passes, Audrey-Rose can just about make out shifting shapes, a seedy mixture of pants and gasps, and the acrid smell of sweat creeping out from the darkness. She doesn’t pay it much mind - people may like to pretend that the 1920s is an era of deceit and crime, but not much has changed since the reign of Victoria. It’s just that people are much, much less discrete while becoming more and more reckless.

Not that she can judge, particularly. Walking the streets in the early hours of the morning is always the perfect way to arouse suspicion, especially when her English accent hasn’t quite faded and the area itself is known to be the hot spot for underworld activities. But it isn’t her fault her favourite speakeasy is at the centre of American chaos, and it certainly wasn’t her choice to conduct business tonight.

Unfortunately humans are rather fragile creatures, and someone happens to be growing increasingly ravenous with each passing moment.

Audrey-Rose cuts a striking figure as she walks carefully across the street, dark dress slipping across her figure and silver rhinestones sparkling in the light. A fur coat is draped across her shoulders - more for fashion than for need. She doesn’t feel the cold biting at her skin anymore. It’s something she misses, from time to time. The click of her heels echoes as Audrey-Rose comes to a halt at an old wooden door, the red paint peeling and the door knob marred with scratches and dents. The house itself - if it can even be called a house - is crumbling, almost decrepit, and a rat scurries between gaps in fallen bricks. She watches with nonchalance, before raising her hand to the door and knocking a quick but soft rhythm. It opens mere moments later, revealing the dazed expression of a young man - dark curls falling over his brow, and plump lips parted in awe. Two red dots, still fresh, lay partially hidden by his messily buttoned collar. 

Audrey-Rose struggles to keep the sneer from her lips. Letting a human, freshly fed from, answer the code is hardly the best image to present, and she certainly isn’t pleased by the way he seems drawn into her space. She pushes past immediately, ignoring the way his eyes follow her until she turns a corner. With every step the furnishing becomes more luxurious; the carpet, blackened and dulled with age and miscare, blooms into a startling red. Lamps, previously broken and hanging by the thinnest strands of metal, glow a golden hue, bringing life to Audrey-Rose’s pale features. Music drifts from behind silk curtains, the laughter and gossip of a myriad of voices following soon after. She pushes the curtains aside, and pauses to take in the room.

It hasn’t changed for the past five years that she has frequented the place. The mixture of gaudy red curtains and carpets and golden lamps would normally turn Audrey-Rose’s stomach, but for a den of creatures that are attempting to relive the past - it is all too fitting. The bar is busy - entertainment more than necessity. Alcohol does nothing to or for them, and the taste is nothing compared to warm blood, but there is, and has always been, the longing to cling to some semblance of human life. Alcohol is one of the ways, and has become especially tempting with the current state of government. Nothing tastes sweeter than a secret, after all.

She treads down the stairs quietly while slowly slipping out of the sleeves of her coat. It goes straight into the arms of a server, who then immediately disappears into the cloakroom. The crowd separates for her, almost subconsciously. She may not be one of the oldest, but by some luck she is associated with one of the most powerful; being a favourite of the owner is always a pleasant card to have in one’s deck, even if he is incredibly arrogant and a victim of his own hubris.

The man in question sits upon, or rather drapes across, his throne: a large, dark mahogany seat carved with scenes of flowers and little faeries - or devils. He watches a fire eater from his elevated seat, flames bursting orange and yellow, casting a fiery hue across his tan skin. A woman sits on the arm of the chair, and runs her fingers through dark locks while tracing the lace of his mask. A position of power, with his arm wrapped around her waist - except as the crowd parts and his eyes finally slip to hers, the woman is dismissed: one wave of a hand, brief and distant. Long legs carry him gracefully down the carpeted steps, and his eyes don’t leave hers once. Every step is careful, calculated, and the crowd watches on in awe. The man does have an allure about him, one Audrey-Rose is almost ashamed to admit she isn’t quite immune to, but even that has been fine tuned over many years - polished and refined to perfection. As usual, he wears only the finest attire: a dark suit, bespoke fit, the jacket left open to reveal the red inside and open collar of his shirt. It doesn’t surprise her that he has already lost his tie - though it was likely intentional. Everything with him always is: each moment of the evening planned down to meticulous detail. It leaves Audrey-Rose feeling sloppy, and sloppy is something she has never been. 

They finally meet in the middle, shoes almost touching, perfume and cologne mingling. It would be intoxicating if Audrey-Rose could even be intoxicated. Then she notices the elegant details of the mask, and can’t help but roll her eyes at the design - black roses over red silk. She doesn’t know whether to be irritated or pleased.

“You knew I was coming, then.” Her eyes drift briefly back to the throne, where the woman now stands charming some human magician he has likely transfixed for the night. 

“Audrey-Rose,” he takes her hand, brushing his lips across her gloved knuckles, and deigning to ignore her comment. She meets his gaze again, and raises a carefully shaped brow. “You look as beautiful as ever.” 

“Mephistopheles.” The name rolls of her tongue, and a lazy grin stretches at his cheeks; she can’t help but smile in return. He may be as arrogantly charming as the devil himself, but Audrey-Rose does find her fondness for him growing at an exponential rate. 

“Not a fan of the mask, I presume? I haven’t seen you in so long, I thought it might be a fitting tribute.” He places her hand in the crook of his arm, fingerings lingering across the silken gloves, before carefully guiding her in the direction of his throne. With every step they take, Audrey-Rose feels more eyes stare their way. It isn’t usual for their ring-leader to show particular affection for someone else, particularly when they’re almost an outsider, and jealousy has always run rampant in the ranks of sycophants - but her chin tilts up, and she forces herself to glaze over each predatory glare. Her position and favour is secure - and always will be. Mephisto isn’t one to lose affection quickly.

“We both know I am not here for a reunion, Mephistopheles.” They halt by the throne. Audrey-Rose follows the engravings with her eyes: imps and faeries to match the cunning nature of the man before her. She ignores the presence of the roses. Even though the chair is much older than their relationship, they seem to hold more weight than she cares to acknowledge. “I need information, and quickly.”

Mephisto’s finger tips graze over a bottle of red wine, freezing momentarily at her demand. He’s irritated - jaw subtly clenched and shoulders stiff - but he quickly loosens, turning to Audrey-Rose with a devilish smile and a glass in one hand, the bottle in the other. As the wine pours, graceful and clean, Mephisto begins to speak.

“You are not the only one, Audrey-Rose.” When she ignores his outstretched arm and the glass of wine in his hand, Mephisto deigns to take a sip instead - but the furrow of his brow, barely noticeable beneath the mask, is all the sign that she needs: the glass had been a peace offering. Mephistopheles has done something bound to irritate, if not anger, her. 

“Who else?” Her voice is soft, but firm, an underlying sense of stubbornness and resilience. She won’t give - and he knows it. Mephisto takes another sip of wine, and Audrey-Rose takes a step closer. Their shoes brush and the red of her lips stain his ear, but there isn’t anything intimate or loving about the embrace. He is still, bottle at his side and glass hovering by her waist. “Tell me, Ayden. Now.”

He looses a sigh, and Audrey-Rose feels him nod. She pulls back far enough to see his response, but not so far that she is fully out of his private space. There’s a moment, briefly, that he spends looking at her - watching her narrowed eyes and the tense pull of her muscles - but he soon looks away, instead glancing pointedly at an area by the bar. 

“There’s a human, over by the bar - asking questions I am sure you require the answers to yourself.”

Audrey-Rose hisses through her teeth, glancing over her shoulder to spot the human at the bar. He speaks with enthusiasm, drink left untouched and eyes as awake as a man on some kind of stimulant. He hasn’t been transfixed, which means that he is fully aware of everything that happens inside the speakeasy. 

It isn’t a sight that one usually beholds in the court of Mephistopheles. 

“Ayden, what were you thinking?” He doesn’t even have the gall to look ashamed by the time Audrey-Rose spins back to face him - though he does grip his glass a little tighter. The glass in question sits back down on the table as he shrugs before gesturing widely: a showman’s stance and skill, meant to distract and charm all at once. Her frown only deepens.

“A little entertainment for the evening.” Immediately, Audrey-Rose turns on her heel. This is meant to be one of the safest places for creatures like her to hide, a place that allows them to bloom and thrive. It’s meant to be a paradise, of sorts. A Garden of Eden for the damned.

But humans - humans that are fully aware, fully able to recall every single detail including the location of the underground bar, are dangerous. Mephistopheles’ little game could easily become one of the riskiest cards he has ever played. 

A hand grips her arm, gently, forcing her to come to a stop at the base of the stairs. She doesn’t meet Mephistopheles’ eyes out of sheer pettiness, but tilts her head towards him anyway. The least she can do is acknowledge his presence. 

“Be careful, Audrey-Rose. This one seems reckless.”

“And you aren’t?” She scoffs, finally meeting his eyes. But she doesn’t expect his expression to be so serious. It’s not something she sees from Ayden often, and certainly isn’t something she expected to see in this current situation. Not regarding his entertainment, anyway. He’s silent for a moment, before releasing her and taking a step back.

“Not with you.” 

He leaves before she can say anything in return.

The shock doesn’t shake her from her initial path. The crowd parts again, dancing couples shifting away and landing lifts out of her way. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the human comes into view. He must feel her glare, narrowed and frustrated, as his conversation with the barman falters. She reaches him as he turns her way. Neither of them speak.

He’s tall: quite a bit taller than her, and his posture only makes his height stand out even more. His dark hair is waved perfectly and falls over his forehead just so - Audrey-Rose wants to tug on it, mess it up completely. The sensation and pettiness shocks her. It’s been quite some time since someone has managed to rile her up without saying a single word - and this human is managing just that. His nose has an aristocratic slant, and his lips are still parted. But not in awe. He is analysing her just as she is analysing him, as if he can see her right down to her rotten, damned core. A shiver races up her spine. Humans are meant to be plain, fragile, forgettable and a tool to be manipulated but he - Audrey-Rose doesn’t think she could ever forget his face, nor the way his eyes seem to glisten with an intelligence and curiosity that she has only ever seen in one other person.

And he is too busy running the underground world to put that intelligence to use in any other shape or form.

Audrey-Rose finds herself caught in his eyes. It’s as if some vice as locked her in place, forced her to stare into his eyes until the sun rises and the speakeasy closes for the day. He looses a breath, Audrey-Rose is shaken from the spell.

If this is what it feels like to be transfixed, she really pities their humans even more. 

“Hello-”

“You need to leave.” She cuts him off before he can say more than a single word, but the pure silkiness of his voice has her gripping onto the wooden stool next to her. Music blares in the background, but it all falls quiet when he speaks. She hates it - hates him. 

She hates herself.

“That’s all very well, but I have a job that needs to be done and questions that need to be asked, miss-?”

“Wadsworth. Audrey-Rose Wadsworth.” The answer slips from her lips before she can stop it, trap it behind her teeth and suffocate it with her tongue. Years upon years of engrained etiquette lessons have betrayed her at last, it seems.

“Miss Wadsworth.” He’s enunciating each vowel and consonant perfectly, memorising the taste of the syllables as his tongue reaches the tips of his teeth. There’s a smile, genuine and soft, parting his lips that feels like an electric pulse to her veins. Phantom heat reaches her cheeks - even though her blood doesn’t run like it used to, she can still remember the sensation of a blush on her skin. “Thomas Cresswell. It’s a pleasure.” There’s a slight tilt to his lips - something soft turned to an arrogant smirk. Audrey-Rose bristles. Just because his name - Thomas Cresswell - is soft and gentle, a complete contrast to the sharpness of his cheekbones and dark cut of his suit, it doesn’t mean she will fall to her knees and whisper reverence into his skin.

It also doesn’t mean he can out stay his welcome. 

“Mister Cresswell, this isn’t the place to ask questions safely.” Audrey-Rose glances over his shoulder to see eyes upon eyes on them, not even bothering to hide their interest. They meet her eyes without flinching - and it’s only then that Audrey-Rose realises that true danger may linger close by. Talking in the open has never been the smartest option, but the man is far too stubborn to even consider leaving without having some of his questions answered.

She’d admire his determination if it wasn’t so damn irritating. 

“Would you like to dance?” Hand outstretched, Audrey-Rose waits for Thomas’ response. It only takes one look over her head at the spectators around them for him to take her hand in response. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, and the quirk of his lips leaves her a little breathless and frustrated; arrogant, charming, and irritating all at once.

“Only if you promise not to step on my toes, Miss Wadsworth.”

“As long as you don’t provoke me, you’ll be quite safe.”

And then they are on the dance floor, chests almost touching, closer than Audrey-Rose can quite comprehend. Her hand fits perfectly in his, and she wonders for a short moment what it would feel like to slip her gloves from her hands and touch her fingertips to his. The heat of his hand sears through the dark, thin material at her back, and his eyes seem to trace along her pale jaw, the dark curls of her hair, before finally reaching her own. She’s sure there’s something poetic in the moment: a human and a vampire, dancing in harmony in a place of chaos - but there are more important things to dwell on, and neither of them have exactly come to play. 

And Audrey-Rose isn’t one to give into such whims quite so easily, anyhow. 

“If you have any questions, Cresswell, ask quickly. Mephistopheles’ protection won’t last much longer. We need you out of here as soon as possible.” She pulls him a little closer, hand on his shoulder sliding along his collar before ending at the back of his neck. Hair tickles her fingers through her gloves, and she feels him shiver. 

“Why, Wadsworth, you almost sound as if you care.” Her eyes narrow and lips purse at his teasing tone, ready to reprimand him for not taking this seriously enough - but his heart isn’t in it completely. There’s a slight tenseness to his expression - barely perceptible by anyone else, but Audrey-Rose is incredibly close and can also feel the tightening of grip on her back. “There’s been killings. They’re not caused by a human.”

“No.” She mutters in return as her eyes wander across the crowd, constantly weighing the risk, searching for possible danger. “It’s one of us - someone gone rabid. Whoever it is isn’t from Mephistopheles’ faction, but I haven’t figured out who else they may owe allegiance to.”

“That’s what you came here for, tonight. To ask questions yourself… how can you be sure it isn’t Mephistopheles? A king of chaos, letting his guests use humans for their every whim. The only reason I’m alive is because he found me entertaining, no?” Her expression is neutral as she returns her gaze to his, but he replies with a tense smile. “Do try to convince me I'm wrong, Wadsworth. I like a good challenge.”

“You may be entertainment for the evening, but it isn’t him. The bodies … he isn’t capable of brutality like that. I have known him for a long time, at least by human standards. He was also otherwise occupied during two of the murders.” Audrey-Rose pauses for a moment, allowing a particularly energetic couple to slide past before continuing. “The first, he was here, at the club - it doesn’t open without him. The second, the court had requested his presence. Likely to question him on the murders, though the information hasn’t quite trickled down to us common people yet. It’s why everyone is so curious - they know something is wrong, there has been tension for months, but no one knows quite why.”

“Apart from you.” The hand in hers tightens briefly as someone stumbles too closely. “A friendship with Mephisto is worth something, then.”

“It has its benefits yes - but that isn’t how I know about the murders”. Her tone is slightly terse. Ayden Thorne’s morals may be questionable at the best of times, but Audrey-Rose won’t stand to listen anyone accuse him of murder. Especially when they are so brutal. Thomas twirls her suddenly, before pulling her in closer than before. She can feel his breath on her skin; if she were to tilt her head, their breaths would surely mingle. Then Thomas grins, eyes crinkling as if he knows her very thoughts, and the image shatters. Her pursed lips return. “One of my neighbours disappeared, quite suddenly, but when her body was discovered - it was all far too quiet. No distress from her husband, no further investigation in the immediate area. I snuck into the morgue and what I saw … no human committed that act. Then her husband disappeared, the investigation quietened in the same manner, and I have been tracking the case ever since.”

They fall quiet for a moment, then. Recalling the memory of her neighbour’s ruined body is easy - the image rests behind her eyes whenever they close. Audrey-Rose thanks the Lord, even if he has abandoned her as a creature of the dark, everyday that her Uncle worked with the dead so often. Nothing could fully prepare her for the deep and numerous slash marks across her neighbour’s pale skin, cut to the bone and in messy shreds - but she would still be better prepared than most.

“I need your help, Wadsworth.” It breaks the silence: a soft request, whispered close enough to her ear that she feels the motion of his lips. “I can’t do this alone.”

“Why are you so invested? Driven by a need to do good and protect human life, perhaps?” A breathy laugh brushes against the soft skin of her cheek, and Audrey-Rose smiles in return, not even bothering to suppress what he can’t see. “Then maybe it is the challenge? A reckless need to know what others can’t, and won’t?”

Slowly, he pulls back, a question in his eyes that Audrey-Rose can’t quite decipher. His lips part, and a hand raises to carefully brush a stray lock of hair away from her brow. Then he pulls back, hand returning to her back and smirk returning to his lips. 

“Is that a yes or a no, Wadsworth?” His lips are back at her ear, and Audrey-Rose’s breathing stops for a moment. “Or is this all a little too _reckless_ for you?” She pulls back, speech of defence ready to spring from her lips - how dare he even suggest that she isn’t capable of handling something such as this? As if her life since she was turned hasn’t been filled with danger and risk - when the music suddenly stops, and the room becomes blindingly bright.

Couples turn and hiss in confusion, staring at the transfixed human that has managed to make its way to the singer. She turns on him, fangs bared and eyes flashing dark. Audrey-Rose turns to Thomas urgently, hands tugging at his arm in an attempt to move him more quickly towards the stairs.

“You need to leave. _Now._ ” This time, he doesn’t try to refuse. He slips ahead of her, clearly expecting her to follow him, but Audrey-Rose stops at the bottom of the stairs - already shaking her head. “I need to stay. Mephistopheles will expect my company for a while longer.” Thomas stops a few steps ahead of her and briefly looks at the man in question. A slight darkness passes over his features. “Meet me at the morgue midnight tomorrow. You need to see the bodies for yourself, in person, to truly grasp what we are dealing with - what?”

There’s almost a grin stretching at his lips that is entirely too inappropriate for the current situation, and he is taking steps towards her when he should be running in the opposite direction.

“So that is a yes, Wadsworth?” He grasps her hand more firmly in his.

“Yes, Cresswell, now leave before you paint a target on your back-”

Audrey-Rose is cut off by the press of her lips to her palm. Her lips hover open in surprise for a short moment, before they slam shut. His fingers hold her own so delicately, like something precious he only wants to cherish, while the lips on her palm are so soft, and the press so brief - it is almost a whisper. There’s material separating his skin from hers, but she feels it all the same.

“Tomorrow midnight. Stay safe, Miss Wadsworth.”

And then he disappears up the stairs, curtain slipping shut behind his tall, dark form. Audrey-Rose can still feel phantoms pressing along her hand, brushing hair from her brow and whispering in her ear, along with the lingering sense of frustration. That man is a complete mix of everything Audrey-Rose both hates and loves at once. It takes her a moment to move from her space at the bottom of the stairs, but she finally turns - and when she does, dark eyes, hidden behind a mask of lace and silk, meet her own.

After a fraction of a second, all of which is spent thinking through the motions of what will have to happen next, Audrey-Rose slowly begins to walk towards the bar.

If she’s going to have to deal with moody vampires, irritatingly charming humans, and a brutalised corpse all within the space of twenty-four hours -

Then she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get a drink first.


End file.
